


Happy Anniversary, Mr. Jane

by TriviaMasquer



Category: The Mentalist
Genre: AU after S06E05, Aftermath of Torture, F/M, Hospitalization, Hunt for Red John, Jane's Past, Jisbon, Long Term Case Fic, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-28
Updated: 2015-10-01
Packaged: 2018-04-23 19:13:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4888741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TriviaMasquer/pseuds/TriviaMasquer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ten years after Jane joins the CBI, the team investigates a Red John case that targets him in a personal way and his reaction to the murders leaves him in the hospital psychologically damaged. But after Red John's insider gets him alone in his room, Lisbon is the only one he will let near enough to help him in the aftermath. T for language, violence, and suggestive themes.<br/>Contains spoilers for the end of the Red John plot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Gift

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: This story is not going to be kind to many of the characters involved. It will root through the psyches of both Jane and Lisbon and will explore a combination of their canon and non-canon histories. If I make any grave or slightly annoying factual errors concerning timelines or plot, go ahead and PM me. I'll fix what I can as long as it doesn't compromise the story I'm creating. If you're not into Jisbon, I fear Chapter Three will be as far as you will want to go.  
> There are also some pretty violent descriptions of violence and torture, since Red John is involved. It takes place in season 6 after an alternative ending to "The Great Red Dragon" and picks up a few months later.  
> This is a transplant from my ff.net account and was initially published in January of 2013 and has been on hiatus since December of the same year.  
> After some pretty significant life changes, and a loss of interest in the post-Red John iteration of The Mentalist, I have found myself no longer facing writer's block and have been able to start writing this again.  
> I have no promises on how quickly updates will come out since I'm in my third year of university, but I am looking forward to writing this story again.

Patrick Jane woke up. He was on the couch in the CBI and Lisbon was standing over him.

"C'mon Jane, we got a murder to go to."

He lifted his eyebrow at her. She was holding back information.

"Where?"

"Malibu."

"What?"

"Double homicide, mother and daughter."

"Who?"

"Are you teaching kids to write?" she snapped testily.

"No. Any suspects?"

"Yes. Well, no. Confirmed perp." She was still being evasive. And refused to meet his gaze. That could only mean one thing. He sat up and forced her to meet his eyes.

"Red John."

"Yes." She spun quickly and headed for the door. "Your hair's sticking up on the right."

He stood, stretched, and finger combed the hair back into place using a reflection on the window behind the couch. Patting his pockets to check for his phone, he followed Lisbon out the door.

* * *

 

He was miffed slightly. Although the plane ride was uneventful, Lisbon had refused to say more than a few sentences to him. It miffed him.

* * *

 

She started to act the smallest bit nervous, even turning to him at one point during the flight to say something and then turned away.

Lisbon was still being evasive when they turned off the city streets into the neighborhoods. She talked about the previous case, asking him to go back over what exactly had been his reasoning behind his initial decision on who the killer was. It had been a petty case as usual, dead husband with a mistress, a wife with her own lover, a huge missing fortune, and four layers of subterfuge before it became obvious enough for the jury.

Her knuckles suddenly whitened as she gripped the wheel harder.

Why?

He looked up.

_"Daddy, can I have a pony for Christmas?"_

_In the rear-view mirror he sees her: pouty lips, puppy eyes, hands balled in pleading hands under her chin._

_He smiles. "Let me guess? A white, shaggy one with light brown spots from a specific set of islands that start with A and C?"_

_She squeals "Yes, please!"_

_"Mommy has been reading_ Misty  _to you again, hasn't she?"_

_She nods emphatically._

_"I'll talk to Mommy about it."_

A hand touched his.

"You alright?" Lisbon looked genuinely concerned.

His voice stuck as he tried to answer, "Yes."

He had driven his daughter home through that intersection almost every day that he picked her up from school.

Lisbon turned the car down an eerily familiar street.

His house, where his life had started and ended, sat fourth in on the left side of the road.

The car drew even with it and turned right, pulling into the end of the driveway to face a house and yard swarming with police officers and CSIs.

"You didn't tell me…" his voice trailed off.

"I'm sorry, Jane."

He stepped out of the car and approached the house. Van Pelt, Rigsby, and Cho stood to the side, having already been into the house; they looked ill and would not look over at him.

This investigation was making him more and more nervous as every minute passed.

The sheriff walked up, nodded at Lisbon, but turned to him. "Patrick Jane? I suggest that you do not participate in this investigation."

He rocked back on his heels. "And what? Miss all the fun?" He smirked.

The sheriff's expression did not change. He stood for a moment, turned, and walked away muttering, "I told you not to."

He turned to Lisbon and smiled, attempting to ooze charm instead of the anxiety that burned in him.

"You're not going to tell me I shouldn't go, are you?"

"If I did would it stop you?"

"Should it?"

"Yes."

He leaned in. "To tell you the truth, Lisbon, I'm terrified at what I'll find in there." He smiled and nodded at Cho, who had looked over at him. "However, I feel compelled to see what it is that he's done. To see if there are any clues to who he is, where he is."

He walked through the open door. Sidestepping an exiting CSI, he stopped in a carbon copy of his own foyer. There was a hallway past a window into a small outdoor space, then a flight of stairs. He stopped at the top, his eyes closed.

"Lisbon."

"Yes?"

"Are the bodies in a room at the end of the hall?"

"Yes."

"Is– Is there a…" He swallowed and opened his eyes.

Turning, he started down the hallway. He stopped.

There was a note taped to the door, at eye level, with a strip of inch and a half by half inch masking tape.

He forced his feet to move again.

_His back hurts from the studio chairs._

No, he was perfectly fine. Well, his back was.

_The lights are low in the hall. She always keeps the lights like this when he's coming home. He's tripped over too many toys to count with the lights out._

No, what's happening to him? The lights are all on.

_The hall is perfectly silent except for his footsteps on the carpet and heart racing in his ears. He is alone except for the note and whatever lay behind the door._

He'd stopped walking. The steps he heard were not his own, but Lisbon's. She placed her hand on his shoulder.

"Jane, you don't have to go there. You can stop here, turn around, Van Pelt will take you back to the hotel, and you can rest. You don't have to go back to that night." Her voice was soft.

"I have to go in there. This is for me, I know it. And Lisbon?"

"Yes?"

"I've been back in that day since the intersection."

He swallowed again and moved toward the door.

* * *

_Dear Mr. Jane:_

_Happy Anniversary! It has been eleven years to the day since you killed your beautiful wife and child with those slanderous words of yours. You know I can't meet you in person for this momentous occasion, but I left you a present to remind you of our special day._

* * *

He pulled the note from the door, accidentally crushing it in his left hand. With a shaking hand, he pushed the door open.

On the bed were a woman and her daughter. The child, only seven or eight, had curly hair, he could see that. He stepped closer. She had not been asleep. Her face was twisted in terror and pain.

He collapsed.


	2. Waking Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I use italics here to denote writing, rather than memory.

Patrick Jane woke up. Lisbon was sitting in a nearby chair, her chin on her collar bones, dozing lightly. He shifted his shoulders and balled his fists. Or tried to.

The pressure on his right index finger belonged to a clip and there was a pinch in the back of his left forearm. He lifted his arm and saw an IV shunt taped down, the line running to a bag on a machine that made soft periodic humming sounds. The bag contained a clear fluid, but he couldn't read the label.

He inhaled deeply and blinked at the rush of oxygen that caused stars to dance in front of his eyes. Turning his head slightly, he felt the touch of the plastic tubing that had brought the oxygen.

That was definitely odd.

He closed his eyes, relaxing, and then opened them again. Lisbon hated falling asleep in chairs. He opened his mouth to call her name, but winced at the pain in his throat. Instead, he settled for a short grunt.

Lisbon stirred abruptly, and ground her palms against her eyes.

He smiled and watched her as she came fully awake.

She scanned the room and leaned back. Suddenly, she shot forward in her seat and met his eyes. Her hands clapped to her mouth and she shook with a sudden sob.

"Jane! Oh my God, Jane!" she said, her voice tight.

He mimed writing.

"Oh! Gimme a second."

She rose and looked around rapidly. She made a short dash to the counter with the sink and pulled a handful of paper towels from the dispenser. She turned back, her hand rummaging in a pocket for a pen. Finding one, she laid both on the table used for meals and swung that around, aligning it over his lap.

He looked up at her and smiled again, nodding his thanks.

There were tears on her face, but she smiled back.

_Hello Lisbon._

"Hi, Jane." She choked her words out around tears. She pulled her chair close to the bed so she could read his writing.

_Is everything all right?_

"Basically."

He lifted and eyebrow. Why was she being so evasive today?

"We've been given time off. The murders were targeted at us so they've let a different team take care of it. We're still on full pay, though."

_Where is everybody?_

"Van Pelt and Rigsby are in Napa and Cho is home. I've been here."

_Why did Van Pelt and Rigsby leave so quickly? Are they just there for the day? Are we in Sacramento?_

"Day? What do you mean by-" Her eyes widened. "Oh. Jane, you've been in a coma for nearly four weeks."

"What?!" He winced and grabbed his throat.

_What? Four weeks? Why?_

His hand flashed so quickly across the paper that the words were barely squiggles evocative of the letters that formed them.

"The doctors think you caused your brain to shut down in order to protect yourself from psychological trauma after seeing the bodies. They said you'd come out if you were ready." She looked relieved but scared at the same time.

_Did something happen to me while I was out?_

"No." He saw the lie on her face. If he did not work in a field that dealt with death daily he would not have been able to decipher the mix of emotions that fought there.

_How many times did I die?_

"Three."

He lay back against the pillow and ran his fingers through his hair. There was not a bit of the hair gel he had put in the morning of the investigation. In fact, his hair felt newly shampooed, as if it had been washed that morning.

After a moment he sat up again and held her hand, which she had set on the edge of his bed.

_I'm sorry. Thank you for staying here with me the whole time._

"How-?"

He started writing before she could finish.

_You look exhausted. And there is a cot right there._

He pointed to a cot near the end of the bed.

She smiled and wiped her eyes with her free hand.

_May I ask? Did the doctors say why I died?_

"They said it appeared you gave up. That you wanted to go."

He closed his eyes and squeezed her hand.

_Angela and Charlotte were there. I tried to follow them._

"I figured that might have been the case."

_How long do you have off?_

"Until we feel psychologically ready. The DA specified that since the murder was targeted at a member of our team and since you reacted to it in a way that mentally compromised all of us, we will have time off to recover until we feel better."

He shifted his hips slightly and curled his lip.

_Am I wearing a diaper?_

Lisbon tried to hide a small smile with her hand.

"I was wondering when you'd ask. Yes, all coma patients do. It's how they deal with  _things_." She waved a hand emphatically.

He shuddered. He could not remember ever having felt so disgustingly unclean.

_Never grow old._

She turned her head away for a moment and then looked back at him, the traces of the smile still heavy around her eyes.

"I'll call a nurse to tell them you've woken up. And so you can  _change_." She touched her nose with the side of a finger, in a vague attempt to hide another grin.

_Tell me, are you just so happy to see me, or do you actually take pleasure in the fact that I have been reduced to wearing a diaper? Because if you do there is going to be serious retribution._

He did not yet know what said retribution would be, but it would be extensive.

"Oh, no. It has nothing to do with the fact that you're wearing such undignified apparel." She was lying. It was beyond obvious. Setting the pen down, he crossed his arms and glowered at her.

There  _would_ be retribution.

She pulled her hand from his and stood. She walked to the door, pulled it open, and called, "Nurse!"

From the floor beyond the door came a muffled reply.

"He's awake!" The joy in Lisbon's shout was the slightest bit forced, since the joy was no longer quite as new.

The nurse's response was more excited this time.

Lisbon moved back around the bed and sat in her chair, swinging the table around so it looked like she had been the one writing.

Two people entered the room. One was a nurse, the other, judging by her outfit was a doctor.

"Good morning, Patrick. Well, afternoon, truthfully," the doctor said.

He glanced at Lisbon, who shrugged at the doctor's use of his first name.

"You've been a rather interesting coma patient over the last month." The doctor stopped and looked at Lisbon. "He knows about-"

She cut the doctor off. "Yes, we talked for a moment before I called you."

The doctor nodded.

"Understandable. Patrick, I need to check a couple of things before I let you get cleaned up. I also need to take out your IV. It will scar if we don't pull it out today. Is that all right?"

He nodded.

"Can you speak?"

He shook his head and touched his throat.

"Ah, right. I was wondering if you would feel that. You fought the feeding tube on a couple occasions. It scratched your throat and epiglottis, the flap that covers the opening of your larynx. We'll get you something for that as soon as possible."

When the tests were done, the doctor stepped back.

"I assume you will want to shower, change into a clean gown, and your own undergarments?"

He nodded again.

"Danni will remove your IV and help you with getting clean."

The nurse stepped into the doctor's place as the other woman left the room.

"This is going to feel a little weird." Danni undid the drip line and removed the tape that held the shunt down to his arm. The nurse turned, picked up a cotton ball with tape already on it, and pressed it over the point where the needle went into the skin. She grabbed the body of the shunt and pulled it out. Moving quickly, she fastened the cotton tightly to his arm.

Danni moved to the cardiac monitor and pressed a button. She then walked around the bed and pulled off the finger clip

Jane moved to get up.

"Not yet, there's still a catheter to deal with."

He fell back against the pillow, a tormented look on his face.

Lisbon stood and pulled out her phone. "Honey, I'm going to call the rest of the team and tell them you're awake. Wayne and Grace will probably be here in an hour and a half. I'll tell Kim to wait an hour before coming so you can get clean."

He looked up at her. She had called him Honey.

"I won't tell them about this." Her voice was soft and reassuring.

He nodded and watched her leave.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure how frequently I'm going to move chapters over here. I'm tempted to do a dump of the next eleven chapters tonight, but I have little time for writing and don't want to leave you hanging as I produce the next ones. Any opinions?


	3. Something Strange

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably the shortest chapter. I can't guarantee it, but it should be.

Lisbon closed her phone. She had only needed to make two calls. Cho had been ecstatic as Cho could be, which was saying a lot, since he had found his desk drawers filled with pineapple chunks when they had gone in to lock up their belongings before the forced sabbatical. He could have been angrier, she realized. At least Jane had been kind enough to line the drawers with plastic in a way that allowed for the easy cleaning of the mess. Jane had also put all of the files in clearly labeled bankers' boxes in his attic lair.

She had chosen to call Rigsby instead of Van Pelt, simply because she valued her hearing. Rigsby certainly had been elated, but her ears still rang slightly from the other woman's shriek of joy, despite the fact that Van Pelt had been nowhere near the phone.

A strange sound caught her ear. The shower in Jane's room had been on for the last half hour, but this was the first time she had heard the pattern of the water change, now, as if there was a body moving about in it.

That was definitely odd.


End file.
